


A Detective's Heart

by 4ce_in_sp4ce



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Kittens, Lestrade is a bit of an ass, M/M, Sherlock is way cuter with animals than John expected, a brief mention of Anderson, but he means well, mild angst and protective John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 06:18:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11202204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4ce_in_sp4ce/pseuds/4ce_in_sp4ce
Summary: Sherlock adopts a kitten (against John's wishes) with some interesting results





	A Detective's Heart

"No." John crossed his arms and frowned. "Put it back."

"But John..."

"No."

Sherlock pouted, looking down at the furry ball in his arms. "But the mom got hit by a car and..."

"Sherlock, we're not adopting a kitten."

"B-but..."

"No. We can't afford it. Put it back. I'll make sure Lestrade takes it to a shelter."

Sherlock pouted again and reluctantly set the small kitten down. John felt a pang of guilt. The kitten was a small fluff of grey fur, and was trembling slightly in the light rain, but John wasn't lying; they couldn't afford a pet. Or at least he couldn't, and he figured he'd be the one who ended up taking care of it. Sherlock would loose interest after a couple days (at the most, if they were lucky), then it would fall to John to take care it, and John simply didn't have the money for that (and he refused to borrow money from Sherlock. Again.). He looked down at the kitten one more time. "I'll make sure Lestrade calls the animal shelter," he muttered again, reassuring himself as much as Sherlock.

***

"What the fuck, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked up guiltily, making a half-assed attempt to hide the grey puff curled in his lap. "I can explain. She just looked so cold and sad and I didn't want her to get abandoned in the shelter..." He trailed off, looking up at John, embarrassed.

John sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Sherlock..."

"I already took her to the vet this morning while you were at the clinic to get her vaccinations, and I made an appointment to get her spayed and neutered in a couple of weeks." He paused. "I named her Sara Bisel. S.B. for short."

John tried to protest but the words wouldn't come. Sherlock was sitting on the couch in his pajamas and red bath robe, curls sticking every which way, small grey kitten curled in his lap, purring, and John simply couldn't find the words to tell Sherlock to get rid of her. "Fine," he muttered. "But she's your responsibility."

***

Donovan ran into Lestrade's office, out of breath and unable to believe what Anderson had just told her. "Greg, Greg you won't believe this. The freak's adopted a kitten."

Greg stared at her incredulously, coffee dribbling down his chin. "What? A kitten?"

Donovan nodded. "Yeah."

"A fucking kitten?" Donovan nodded again. Lestrade stared at her in horror. "Christ, Donovan, he's gonna fucking microwave it or something."

"One week." Lestrade looked at Donovan in confusion. "I say one week before he kills the thing. Anderson is betting on four days."

Lestrade realized what she was saying. "Oh please, he's not that terrible of a person." He paused. "I'd give him at least two weeks."

Donovan raised an eyebrow. "You want to bet money on that? Twenty dollars says the poor creature's dead by next Friday. I'm sure we can get Anderson in too."

"You're on." Lestrade frowned for a moment and looked up. "Just don't tell John. I don't think he'd find it funny."

 

***

Sherlock was infuriatingly adorable with Bisel. John wanted so badly to be angry with Sherlock for adopting a kitten when John had specifically told him not to, but when he would come home to the sight of Sherlock sitting at the counter, peering through his microscope with Bisel curled in a ball in his lap or Sherlock lying on the couch, lost in his mind palace, with Bisel sleeping soundly on his chest or, worst of all, Sherlock sitting on the floor with a piece of string and playing, fucking playing, with the goddamn kitten and all of John's protests died in his throat because the man was just too fucking adorable with the cat. Sometimes John would catch Sherlock talking to Bisel, quiet and lovingly, when he though John had gone up to bed. The hardness of his features dissipated, the mask he so carefully constructed slipped, and Sherlock looked so happy that John didn't have the heart to even pretend to be angry at him anymore.

***

John sat in the car, intently not looking at Athena. He was admittedly getting pretty fed up with Mycroft's habit of randomly abducting him without warning at incredibly inconvenient times. He'd just left the shop (they'd run out of milk, again. Sherlock had been uncharacteristically good about buying cat food, but he was still characteristically terrible at buying groceries) when Athena had pulled up beside him. John had learned well enough by now that it was easier just to go along with it.

Sure enough, it wasn't long before the car pulled up in front of Mycroft's office. John got out immediately, having long given up on trying to hold any form of conversation with Athena, and headed inside. Mycroft was sitting at his desk, casually looking though paperwork. "Glad to see you arrived. How are you?"

"Bloody pissed. You know, I actually had things I needed to do today." John crossed his arms. "What do you want this time?"

"Just wanted to check in on my brother."

John rolled his eyes. "Then I suggest you ask him yourself. I'm not your personal assistant."

"Yes, just like Mrs. Hudson isn't your housekeeper, yet she does a fair amount of your cleaning." Mycroft finally looked up. "It's come to my attention that my brother has adopted a cat."

John sighed. "A kitten, actually. He's named her Sara Bisel or something, and is furiously good with her. The man forgets to remove body parts from the fridge, but he always remembers to feed the little ball of fur. Never would've pegged him as an animal person, considering how much he hates people."

"Well, he cried for weeks when we had to put down our childhood dog, so not really that far out of character for him." John looked up in surprise. "He never told you, did he? Not a surprise, really. He calls himself a sociopath and claims not to care about anyone. Yet he adopted a helpless kitten despite being told not to by the man he cares about most." Mycroft met John's eyes. "What do you suppose we can deduce about his heart?"

John looked down, not sure how to answer and surprisingly uncomfortable with the question. After a moment of silence Mycroft turned back to his paperwork.

"I'll let you get back to whatever important things you had to do today."

John nodded and left.

***

"It's been almost two weeks. What do you think?"

Lestrade glared at Donovan. "We're at a crime scene, Donovan. I don't think this is really the time to be gossiping about whether or not Sherlock still has a pet."

Donovan rolled her eyes. "He always has a pet; his name is John. I want to know about the other one." Lestrade shot her another glare. "Oh come on, don't tell me you're not curious!"

Lestrade sighed. "Okay, I'm curious, but I still don't think this is the time or place."

"Well, if you won't ask, I will." Lestrade watched in horror as Donovan strode over to John, who was standing and watching Sherlock flit around the crime scene. "Hey Watson, how's the cat?"

John looked up, confused. "Fine, I guess. She's getting bigger, but is still more fluff than body. Sherlock's named her Sara Bisel, after some famous forensic anthropologist or something."

Lestrade could've sworn Donovan looked almost disappointed.

***

"Sherlock I was going to watch the telly."

"Go sit in your chair."

"It's still drying out from where I had to clean up the blood you spilt on it." Sherlock frowned, seeming to have forgotten about that, and John sighed. "Please can you move?"

Sherlock motioned to the grey puff lying on his stomach. "Bisel's sleeping. Besides there's room beside me."

To be fair, there was some room at the end of the couch, but it wasn't enough to sit without pressing up against Sherlock's head, and given how much Sherlock liked to stretch out, he'd probably end up with his head on John's lap, something that John wanted to avoid. Seeing no other choice, though, John sat down, trying to make as much room between his leg and the top of Sherlock's head as possible. "You know, you can wake the damn cat up. It's not like she doesn't sleep the rest of the day."

"She's comfortable, I'm comfortable, and you get to watch your dull news. I don't see why you're complaining."

John grumbled and turned on the tv, trying to ignore the pressure at the side of his leg. Sure enough, within five minutes, Sherlock had maneuvered so that his head was resting partially in John's lap. John looked down, annoyed. "I though you couldn't move because Bisel was sleeping and you were comfortable."

"I didn't move that much, and I figured this would be more comfortable. As usual, I was right."

John frowned and picked up his cup of tea. "Well, stay still or I might spill scalding tea on your face."

Sherlock looked up at him, a serious look on his face. "That is the single most British threat I've ever heard you utter."

The two men looked at each other in silence for a minute before John couldn't take it anymore and burst out laughing. Sherlock was long behind.

"I suppose that was, wasn't it?" John managed between laughs.

"Most certainly. Most of your threats aren't particularly British, just violent. Oh!" Sherlock sat up a little as Bisel got up, disturbed by the laughing, and hopped down with an annoyed meow. He have John a well meaning glare. "You woke her up."

John shrugged. "You're the one who made me laugh. Besides, now you can move all you want."

Sherlock laid back down, head resting back in John's lap, face a light shade of pink, though it might have just been from laughing. "I'm comfortable where I was."

John shrugged again and picked his tea back up, resting his other hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "Okay, but I was serious about not moving too much."

***

John had to admit, he was getting attached to Bisel. She reminded him of Sherlock; kind of aloof, strange sleeping schedule, affectionate in weird ways, and continually bringing home dead things (turns out their building had mice). John had grown quite fond of her, even though he still pretended to be mad about Sherlock adopting her sometimes (he knew he wasn't fooling anyone).

She'd also shown John a side of Sherlock he supposed he had always known existed but had never really given much thought to. He'd figured Sherlock would eventually lose interest in Bisel, but the man seemed to absolutely adore her, possibly even more than he had when he first brought her home. The hardness of his features seemed to lessen and he smiled more often, and more genuinely too. He looked happier, more human, and John realized Sherlock had still been wearing a mask, even around him. It hadn't been as drastic as what he wore around other people, but it had been there nonetheless. No matter how close they'd become over the last few months, Sherlock had still been unwilling to drop his whole facade around John, and it had taken Bisel to coax him to it.

So when John heard that Scotland Yard had been placing bets on how long it would take for Sherlock to kill Bisel, he maybe overreacted a little.

"You WHAT?!"

Lestrade took a step back, caught off guard by John's outburst. "It was just a joke. And you have to admit the thought of Sherlock actually taking care if a cat is kinda weird."

"So you took bets on how long before he killed it?!"

Lestrade looked down. "Well I suppose it sounds a little harsh when you put it that way."

"I'd expect shit like this from Donovan and Anderson, but from you?" John took a breath, trying to calm himself a little. "Greg, you're Sherlock's friend. Insulting you may be his primary form of communication, but he still considers you one of his only friends. You know he's not a monster, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't treat him like one. I think he would too. It'd be a nice change of pace."

John stormed off out of the office, aware that everyone was watching him and not caring one bit. He was beginning to understand why Sherlock preferred people to think he was a sociopath; whenever he showed an ounce of humanness, he was mocked for it.

It had been Sherlock who had figured out that there was an office bet on how long before he murdered the cat. Donovan had asked him if it was still alive and he'd answered yes and that she "might as well give up on the office pool. I'm more likely to kill you than Bisel, considering I actually like the cat."

John had asked her what he meant by "office pool" and Lestrade had quietly explained. That had been about when John had lost it.

Sherlock had apparently left at some point and was waiting outside. Neither man said anything as John hailed a cab, and the ride back to the flat was silent. 

Sherlock sat on the couch, watching Bisel. She hopped in his lap, but Sherlock made no move to pet her, just watched her. John walked into the kitchen, intending both to make tea and calm down. The silence in the flat was heavy. 

"Am I really such a monster?"

John looked up, startled by Sherlock's voice. "What?"

"Am I really such a monster that they think I would kill a kitten just for fun?"

John walked back into the living room and sat down next to Sherlock on the couch. "You're not a monster at all."

"Well, I am a freak and I suppose that's sort of the same thing."

John stared at Sherlock, unable to believe what he was hearing. Sherlock always seemed so confident and self assured, arrogant even, but now he sat with his hand hovering uncertainly over Bisel, seeming almost afraid to touch her. "Sherlock, you're not a freak either. That's just Donovan being a dick."

"It's not just Donovan. Everywhere I go, my whole life, that name has followed me. Freak, weirdo, machine, monster." He looked up at John. "When you're called something your whole life, there must be some truth to it, otherwise people wouldn't call you it." He turned away again, focusing back on Bisel. "Maybe alone really is better. Maybe it's safer for everyone else."

"Look at me." John places his hand on Sherlock's cheek, turning his face so they were looking at each other again. "Sherlock William Scott Holmes, you are not a freak and you are not a monster. Other people are idiots for not seeing how wonderful and amazing and brilliant you are, but that's their fault not yours. You're so good at pretending that your a machine that sometimes even I forget just how human you are, but you took me in when I was angry and broken and stayed by me even when I wasn't there for you. No machine or monster would do that." He sighed and gave Sherlock a small smile. "You are a brilliantly exceptional man, and you've taken better care of that cat than some people would a child. Just because other people refuse to see that part of you doesn't mean it isn't there or that I don't see it."

Sherlock looked back down and hesitantly pet Bisel. She purred contentedly and stretched out in his lap, and Sherlock smiled softly. "Your dull news program will be on soon."

John glanced at the clock. "I suppose you're right. Mind if I share the couch with you?" Sherlock shook his head, and John grabbed the remote, turning the tv on and settling back. As the program started, John reached over and rested his hand on Sherlock's. Sherlock entwined his fingers with John's and continued to pet Bisel.

"You know?"

"What?"

"I think we should get a dog."


End file.
